California-Texas Trip: Part One

And so the cross country extravaganza ends with me safely back in the bosom of my kith and kin, in time to participate in the ritualistic slaughter of not one, but two awkward, flightless birds.

I began my journey on the ninth of November in San Fran where I attended a Swell Season concert with Annie, a young woman I met in Africa, her partner Zeb, and their friend Sarah. For those of you who do not know, Swell Season is a band consisting of Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová, the two leads from the greatest movie of all time, Once. The concert was brilliant (to quote Hansard's favorite expression of approval). With the help of a couple of additional musicians (bass and violin) the duo performed spot on renditions of many of the songs from the movie as well as a number of other originals. Perhaps the highlight of the show was Irglová's stirring delivery of "If You Want Me," during which she exchanged her usual instrument, the piano, for Hansard's battered guitar (the same used in the movie). They proved every bit as charming in person as they do on screen. Utterly untouched by the corrupting elements of stardom, Hansard's is a genuine aura of confidence steeped in humility. Irglová displays a quiet bashfulness that adds an affecting intimacy to the entire event.

Perhaps the only incident to mar an otherwise perfect concert was the treatment afforded the opener, Martha Wainwright (sister of Rufus Wainwright) by a congregation of revelers huddled near the bar. Their chatter grew to such a level as to interfere even with Wainwright's vehement delivery. Clearly perturbed, she was forced to stop several times and ask that the conversation be kept to a minimum. While I was not particularly moved by her music, such behavior is reprehensible; an affront not only to the musician, but to the other concert goers as well. Though he said nothing of the incident, Hansard countered with his first tune, a fiery rendition of "Say It To Me Now," a song whose lyrics could not have been more appropriate if they had been written expressly in retaliation for just this offense.

I stayed the night with Annie and Zeb in their apartment near Haight Street and they treated me to breakfast the next morning. I cannot imagine a more interesting place to live. After saying our farewells, I spent the remainder of the day wandering around the Haight-Ashbury district in a light drizzle (as far as I know, this is the only form of precipitation to fall in Northern California). I ducked into the occasional bar for a beer before moving on to the next. Along the way I managed to find a Nepali/Tibetan ring I have been searching for, and for a very reasonable price. While the area has lost the glory of its sixties heyday, having become much more up market (like the rest of San Fran) it still retains an atmosphere of bohemian zaniness.

From here I proceeded to the Globetrotters Inn, one of the many hostels in San Fran. Not the greatest hostel by any means, but the only one with available space. The next day I set out for Marin Headlands, a former military post located just over the Golden Gate. I ventured to the nearby resort town of Sausalito where I had breakfast, washed some clothes and did some shopping for camping supplies. Later I returned to the Headlands to the hostel, located in a former military building. The area has been transformed into a park and has lovely views, and the hostel is warm an inviting, with an unmistakable hippie quality. The next day I headed out for Yosemite and got some wonderful shots of the Golden Gate.

I arrived in the small town of Mariposa, some thirty odd miles from Yosemite where I stopped for a rather uninspiring lunch and a much better haircut, before heading to yet another hostel, Yosemite Bug Rustic Mountain Resort, located about nine miles out of town and twenty five miles from Yosemite. After checking in, I was greeted by one of my fellow dorm-mates, Rodrigo, a young Frenchman who had been living in Chile for some time studying. He had a rather contagious exuberance about him and we talked at length about a wide range of topics, including the fact that he had been searching for an American who was not a dissenter ( i.e. did not think Bush is a moron and that the U.S. is headed down an insane path). Unfortunately, I was no help in this area, other than to suggest possibly widening his search to areas outside California.

This ranks as one of the best hostels I stayed at during my travels. It is located in the mountains and has a wonderful restaurant/bar, operated by an incredibly friendly staff and with some of the best and most wholesome food around (though this night I limited myself to a few beers). I spent the rest of the night studying up on Yosemite. I awoke early the next morning and had a hearty breakfast (the "American Breakfast") and was treated to the sunny, larger than life personality of the waitress. The food was outstanding, though she added an entirely new dimension to the experience, such that I think even a simple meal of hardtack and what passes for coffee in most American restaurants would have been transformed into an incomparable feast before her radiant smile and charismatic banter. After breakfast I lit out for Yosemite. While the drive to the park is stunning, it does little to prepare you for the majesty that is Yosemite.

After driving around a bit to get my bearings, I at last tracked down Camp #4, one of only two camps open in November, and set up my tent. Armed with a considerable amount of daylight, I set out on my first hike, Vernal Falls and Nevada Falls. According to the guidebook the whole affair was supposed to take six to eight hours, though I completed it in a little over four, so I think perhaps the literature provided in the park takes into account such things as age, health and physical ability (as I was to discover the next day, my own physical ability is somewhat more diminished than even I had suspected). At any rate the hike is beautiful, and, I think, a wonderful introduction to the park. Unfortunately, the falls were little more than trickles, but fantastic nonetheless. One of the best things about visiting the park in November is the lack of crowds. Indeed, there were few people present in the whole of the park. This, coupled with the cooler weather, make this an ideal time to explore Yosemite. I would be afraid even to think what it must be like in summer with the endless throng of tourists and the relentless heat of the sun.

Upon returning to my car I was surprised to find what I initially thought was a ticket fixed to my windshield. As it turns out Jen, one of my classmates in Monterey, was also in Yosemite and had somehow managed to find my car (not certain of the odds here, but I am sure they are quite a bit higher than tracking down a nondissenter in America). We met up later and I gave her directions to the camp where I was staying. I built a camp fire and feasted on one of the MREs (Meal-Ready-To-Eat) I had purchased for the trip from the commissary in Monterey. All I can say about MREs is that they are vaguely food-like and will do in a pinch, but that I would not go out of my way to try one, and certainly would not live on them by choice. Jen joined me later, set up her tent (in the dark, to her great credit), and we passed the night engrossed in wonderful conversation (hers, not mine).

In the morning we awoke early and Jen struck her camp as she had the leave that day. We set out for the top of Yosemite Falls at about nine, a hike described in terms ranging in degree from "very strenuous" to "highly strenuous" in the various guidebooks. The "very" did not kick in until about halfway, and at about the three-fourths mark, when we encountered a rather steep switchback trail located between to peaks, I think I might have append the description with a few adjectives of my own (none repeatable here). At last we reached the top, where we were greeted by magnificent views of the valley. Though a tad easier, the return trip was still quite intense. Toward the end our legs were shaking with exhaustion and I was near collapse (I think breakfast would have been a good idea). We treated ourselves to a sandwich at the deli in Yosemite Village and then Jen lit out for points unknown (actually for Maryland, Fort Meade to be precise), and I headed for the kitschy, overly touristic Curry Village Campsite for a shower.